Father Figure
by runawaymemory
Summary: Harry muses what it would have been like to grow up with a father... (r&r very welcome!)


He watched the small puffs of white breath floating in the air until they faded away like the last days of December had done recently.  The concrete was cold, even through his robes and coat; his gold and scarlet scarf didn't even keep out all the cold.  There were so many things weighing on his mind; he was fourteen now, and things were becoming more complicated in his life.  His fight with Ron was something he hadn't ever seen coming, and hoped never to happen again.  The Yule Ball had proved more interesting than fun; he and Ron had been suddenly forced into seeing Hermione in a different light.  For three years she had just been their best friend, and this year they had been forced to see her as more than that; she was, in fact, _a girl_.  Obviously, they knew that, they were only just recognizing how much things could change with that being a factor.  Then, there was the Triwizard Tournament.  There were these tasks that Harry was going to have to face, and he wasn't sure if he was even going to live through them all.  People had died doing this tournament before, after all.

          The snow had begun falling around him, covering the grey concrete once again, and he wished there was someone he could talk to.  He had Ron, of course, but Ron was his own age, and what he was looking for was someone older, someone… someone like… his dad.  He wished more than ever that his father was alive now.  He wanted to talk to him about things, share things with him, even needed his vote of confidence that he could, in fact, do this tournament and live to tell about it.  He wanted to tell his father how Ron hadn't believed he didn't enter at first, and they had gotten into their first fight as a result, and how he and Ron suddenly realized that the future could bring Hermione as more then a friend.  He wanted to tell his father how much he loved Hogwarts, and how much Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore meant to him.  All he wanted was to talk to him…  He sighed heavily, sadly, dreaming about what it would be like to have his dad alive now, if he had never died.  He wouldn't be living with the Dursley's on Privett Drive, he would have known before the age eleven that he was a wizard; he would have had a father.  He couldn't help but wonder how much of a difference it would have made.  He imagined himself going fishing, whether it was a muggle thing to do or not, and talking about terms at Hogwarts; he imagined his father giving him advice about school work, about his scrap with Ron, about Hermione, about Cho even.  He imagined what it would be like to tell his father goodnight, to send him an owl post from school, telling him how much he loved it there, and how much he couldn't wait to come home to see him and his mother again.  But all the wondering in the world wasn't going to bring them back.  Nothing ever would.

          He sat for a long while, staring at the ground, his face cold and numb from the winter wind, his fingers tingle with the chill.  His nose and cheeks were red, he was sure.  All the missing in the world wasn't going to change the past; he didn't have a father to talk to, or a mother – he didn't have anyone.  Well, he had Sirius, but he was in hiding, so there wasn't much he could do.  And Sirius was wonderful, but he wasn't his _dad_.  He stared down at the ground, looking up for a moment at the white flakes falling around him, squinting slightly, and lowering his head once more.

          "Miss you, Dad," he said softly.  He'd never known his father, but he loved him just the same, and missed him just the same, his mother too.  He wanted things to be different, but they just weren't.  And as it grew later, he knew he should get inside and warm up a bit by the fire before heading up Gryffindor Tower to his room.  He slowly pushed himself off the cold, hard ground, watching a moment as the white flakes fell to the now whited out ground soundlessly.  He turned silently, heading inside, wondering what life would have been like if his parents had never died.  Wondering what it would have been like to have just been Harry Potter, ordinary wizard boy without a scar, and with both of his parents.  He reckoned he'd never know; what was done was done.  The past just couldn't be changed, no matter who he was or what he had survived; he just didn't have that power – no one did.


End file.
